The Blue Monkey Review

I took the 8:30 launch (it left at nine when we had enough passengers) to Santiago Atitlan, 20 minutes away over the lake. Within minutes, seconds, of disembarking I had a guide and new best friend, Jacobo, 15 years old and working to support a mother and younger brother. In the course of the morning we talked quite a bit. He proved very informative, and at times translated what was going on around us.

My primary destination was the shrive of Maximon. The route took us through the marketplace, filling quickly with commerce and color as women vendors and crowds of women shoppers came for the day's work. We passed a man surrounded by shoppers who had spread a mat on the ground to display his stock of medicinal herbs and plants. "You don't need to check into a clinic," he was saying in Spanish, "you can use..." as he showed how to mix the concoction.

Maximon is the principle saint or god (depeding on your p.o.v.) of the Mayan people, revered and/or worshipped throughout Guatemala. He apparently combines the charisma of several Mayan gods with the questionable charm of Pedro Alvarado (brutal conquistador of Central America) and Judas Iscariot. Each year his image moves, carried by one of the cofradia who devote themselves to his service. There are ten houses in the town, so Maximon makes a circuit in ten years among the cofradia. The chief man of the house, presumaby the head of his cofradia, makes a room available where the faithful can pray for miracles. Offerings of rum and tobacco, or money, help elicit Maximon's help.

Tourists make their visits, too, of course, for a small fee. I think each member of the group that arrived before me spent about enough time to take a picture. I stayed a good deal longer, watching the men who cared for the image. Jacobo and I stayed long enough that we were offered seats (though, fortunately no food).

The room istelf is quite small, maybe 10x10 feet, with benches, a table, the image in front of the table, and along one wall two images of Jesus--one on the cross (though covered with flowers) and one in a coffin. The image itself is about three feet tall, a wooden mask wearing two cowoy hats and a skil cravat, and draped with silk scarves. When not drinking guarro (aided by two of the caretakers) Maximon has a cigar in hiw mouth. Buster Browns poke out from beneath the silken scarves.

Men came and went, with five about the smallest number present, and nine about the most. One woman appeared at the doorway, and one of the men told her to bring more food. The men's job was to eat the food, drink, gossip. One of the faithful came to pray, and lit candles in front of Maximon and also poured out part of his guarro onto the concrete floor. The head of the house also came in for a while. These men are sometimes reputed to be shamans, though I can't say anything about that. Often the heads of cofradia have to spend large sums to support the rituals of their groups. It's an honor and a burden.

We saw more of the town, including two of the 20 evangelical churches in town. Jacobo told me there were many "cristianos" in town, and that those who left the Catholic church usually also left their devotion to Maximon behind (but, sometimes they need something, Jacobo told me, and so turn to Maximon).

Leaving on the same launch with me was a fisherman, a true son of the soil, or lake, I guess. In a good night's work he can pull in 100 lbs of fish, he told me. His boat is a caylluca (I'm guessing on the spelling), a common enough craft here. It looks like an Indian canoe carved out of one log but with large, flat boards along the sides. The single oar has a long handle, so you can use it standing if need be. We both turned back to our own thoughts though these were interrupted when his cell phone rang.